


Tire d’érable

by MarigoldVance



Series: des p'tits sucrés [5]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: (animal spirits), (shape shifters), Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Cabane a sucre, Fox!Fíli, M/M, Otter!Kíli, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:40:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26193559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarigoldVance/pseuds/MarigoldVance
Summary: For all the thrill this part of the world caused when it was discovered, it’s miserable and harsh and endless and Kíli would appreciate a bowl of hot stew for his core and a warm hearth for his fingers.
Relationships: Fíli/Kíli (Tolkien)
Series: des p'tits sucrés [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1900903
Comments: 11
Kudos: 19





	Tire d’érable

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dragonsquill (dragonsquill)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonsquill/gifts).



> _ you are one of the most talented, creative and inspirational people on this platform and in this community; i admire you so much, [Dragonsquill](https://dragonquill.tumblr.com/), and i hope you'll accept this token of my appreciation for all you've shared with us over the years _ ❤️
> 
> *
> 
> originally posted to the [Secret Admirers Collection](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SecretAdmirers2020)

They stand out against the monotone landscape, tramping and stomping and slipping through the snow. Stark combinations of red and orange and yellow and blue, prisms sewed across their fronts in tri-colored arcs. The group huddled, close and familiar, ahead of them dons an even more spectacular spectrum with their pinks from head to toe, purples, fluorescent greens that burn Kíli’s retinas to look at them.

Kíli isn’t sure about this decade. It’s very … loud. 

He’s even less impressed by this part of the world. For all the thrill it caused when it was discovered, it’s miserable and harsh and endless and Kíli would appreciate a bowl of hot stew for his core and a warm hearth for his fingers. Fíli doesn't seem to be suffering the same despair at Kíli’s side though his shoulders are risen to his ears against the weather. Which, according to their guide, _est_ _génial ce matin!_ Whatever that means.

Fíli says it’s French but Kíli isn’t convinced.

Unlike those treading easily around and ahead of them, Kíli presents a miserable picture. His face is a squished, stumpy rectangle between his woolly tuque and triply-wound scarf, no more than a nose, cheeks and squinty eyes. The cold bites his exposed skin raw and pulls his breath from his nostrils in clouds that crystalize in the hair above his lip and on the fabric under his chin. His coat is enormous, heavy, swallowing him up and making his legs look thin as asparagus stalks where they sprout beneath him.

And yet, somehow, Kíli’s teeth still chatter, the hinge of his jaw stiff for the effort, and his toes are aching in their plush socks and astronaut boots.

“This had better be worth it.” Kíli grumbles, voice muffled by his scarf. He pulls his arms tighter to his body, hands curling into fists and shoved deep in his coat pockets.

“I promise, it is.” Fíli assures him through numb lips that don't seem to bother him. “Just a little further now, come on.” He knocks Kíli’s elbow with his and rallies the energy to pick up his pace.

Kíli scoffs but does the same, keeping up with his brother as they march through the snow like clumsy soldiers. He’d much prefer to be in his furs, but Fíli insisted they bundle themselves up like marshmallow men and make the trek on two legs. He feels ridiculous and sweaty-clammy-cold and he’s hungry, so hungry and—what is Fíli grinning about?

His brows flatten in suspicion when Fíli reaches over to band a frozen hand around Kíli’s wrist, their skin meeting under the cuff of Kíli’s ridiculous coat. Kíli bites back a yelp and growls his displeasure instead, yanking his wrist inward to force Fíli to trip into his space.

They’re practically nose to nose when Kíli asks, words foggy between their faces, “What’re you up to?”

Fíli’s grin widens, sly as anything, and he plants a dry kiss on the tip of Kíli’s nose. “Not yet, kit, you’ll ruin the surprise.”

Normally, seeing that devotion in the crinkles of Fíli’s eyes would make Kíli’s heart swoop. As it stands, Kíli purses his lips and pouts at his brother.

“I don’t want a surprise, Fee.” He whines, slouching forward to rest his head against the puff of Fíli’s shoulder. “I want a blanket.” He sinks a finger into Fíli’s coat, over Fíli’s heart, as he confesses in a low, rumbly voice, “I want you to hold me and keep me warm.”

“And I will!” Fíli positively sparkles, handsome face glowing with amusement. “But right now, I really want you to try something, alright?” Fíli tips Kíli’s face up with a finger crooked under his stubbly chin. “Just a little longer, Kee, and then we can cuddle all you want.”

Kíli glances to the side, “I wasn’t thinking of _cuddles_.”

“ _I know_.”

They make the remainder of the trek in comfortable silence, arms pressing and bumping together. When they round the bend, the trail opens into a large parcel of cleared forest. At the center stands a long, stout cabin made of dark wood and a tin roof. People of all ages filter in and out and around the grounds, clomping in their boxy boots. Music bubbles out of speakers under the eaves, some pop tune about girls having fun that a few teenagers giggle and sing along to. On one side of the cabin leans a little hut with hardly a roof and from it stems a winding queue of bouncing, bobbing waiters – waiting for what, Kíli doesn’t know but telling by Fíli’s expression, he’s going to find out.

“Trust me.” Fíli says, taking Kíli by the hand and towing him to the back of the line.

“I trust you fine.” Kíli gets as close as he can to Fíli, punching into Fíli’s coat pockets and tucking his head beneath Fíli’s chin. Fíli chuckles, warm and fond, and circles his arms snugly around Kíli’s back. Kíli feels the muffled stamps of Fíli’s lips in a crown across his hatted head and tips his cold nose into Fíli’s throat in response.

The line moves quickly, Fíli dragging Kíli forward every step because Kíli refuses to leave the refuge of Fíli’s embrace until he absolutely must, and, finally, they make it into the little hut. There’s not much in it save for a man standing behind a hip-height, lidless box on stilts. In the box is, Kíli frowns, snow. Behind the man is a steaming contraption that wafts the warm, cozy scent of liquid sugar and, from it, sticks out the handle of a ladle. The man greets them in the same odd French as their guide earlier and ushers them forward.

Kíli spares a glance at Fíli who kisses his temple and tells him to watch what the man is doing.

The man turns toward the steaming contraption and lifts the ladle, scooping out what looks like— _oh!_

Maple syrup.

The man pours lines of the hot syrup into the snow where it hisses and cools rapidly. Quickly, the man grabs a craft stick and rolls it over the hardening, gooey-taffy syrup, spinning it up like cotton candy. He does this to all the lines of syrup and hands two to Fíli and two to Kíli and thanks them (Kíli guesses) before pointing to the exit.

“I’m shocked it’s not already in your mouth,” Fíli teases around a mouthful of his own snowy sugar treat. “Aren’t you going to try it?”

“I’ve never had maple syrup before.” Kíli muses distantly then nods, “If you think I’ll like it then it must be good.”

With that, he shoves the tip of one of his taffy sticks into his mouth and immediately thaws as the flavor melts over his tongue. It’s buttery and sweet and it makes his eyes roll back in his head from pleasure. He moans around his stick and sucks more into his mouth, tongue and lips working as hard as they do when they’re focused on his brother.

“Good?” Fíli asks a moment later, having polished off both of his treats.

Kíli can do nothing more than nod dreamily, mourning the loss of his own treats when he’s done as well. He smacks his lips and turns big eyes on Fíli who simply shrugs, slips an arm around Kíli’s waist and leads him back to the end of the line.

“We’re not staying all day, Kee.”

“Of course not, we’ll freeze.” Kíli agrees.

“And we’re not filling up on this stuff.”

“Don’t be silly, my head would burst from sugar-rush.” Kíli says sensibly.

Fíli pauses to consider Kíli’s profile when Kíli refuses to look at him, “We’re not sneaking back later, either.”

Kíli throws his arms up and turns to Fíli like he’s being unreasonable, “Well what’s the point of anything, then, hm!?”

“ _Kíli_.” Fíli warns.

“Yes yes yes, fine.”

And if Kíli returns after disappearing all night, fur clumpy and sticky with what he insists _isn’t_ syrup, Fíli just points to the bath he ran earlier and doesn’t bother commenting. 

**Author's Note:**

> anyone else ever lose feeling in their toes even though they have _the_ thickest, warmest, furriest, fuzziest socks on in insulated, waterproof boots? #whatsupwinter 


End file.
